Kirkwall Delenda Est
by FremenCredo
Summary: Kestrel Hawke has never been a very nice man - he couldn't afford to be. That doesn't necessarily mean he's a bad man, however - just pragmatic. Occurs post-game... WARNING: Character death.


**A/N** I actually had this story pretty much completely thought out before _Mundane Magic_, but I wanted to try my hand at something "lighter" before I launched straight into angst. Also, I need to apologize for the length, because I couldn't find a good way to split it into chapters. **WARNING:** Character death.

**Kirkwall Delenda Est**

They sat, or reclined, or stood - depending on their level of exhaustion - staring at the small fire flickering on the bare rock of the cavern floor. The railings and struts of one of the staircases that led into a dead-end shaft had supplied the fuel, and Kestrel supposed more could be scavenged if needed. After all, the Bone Pit and all it contained was his.

Even if it was no longer useful as a means of income, it was very useful indeed as a place to hide and regroup. No denizen of Kirkwall would venture here - and even those who didn't believe in the curse wouldn't consider the place as anything more than a death trap. His people had managed to clean out and secure this section, at least, but he didn't plan on staying any longer than was necessary.

He glanced across the cavern at the alcove where his "guests" were huddled around a fire of their own. Ten mages rescued from the ruin of the city, the madness of Meredith and the machinations of Vengeance. Ten out of how many? He shook his head in regret. If only Orsino had held fast a little longer. If only Vengeance had remained quiescent just a few more days. If only... He grimaced in disgust. Vain regrets were pointless. Now he had to salvage what was left of the plan.

He studied the faces of his compatriots, gauging their likely reactions. Maybe not a one of them would comply willingly, but at this juncture, he didn't give a damn. They owed him - every single person in the place _bloody well owed him_ - and it was past time to collect the debt. Not that there hadn't been good enough times with all of them, but still...

"All right," he said quietly. Instantly, their attention was riveted on him - all but one. Anders sat on a crate, eyes shut and lips moving soundlessly. His hands were clenched white-knuckled on his staff, which he held across his lap.

Hawke stood and walked over to stand beside his lover. From his belt pouch, he retrieved a felt-wrapped object. With exaggerated care, he folded the cloth back to reveal a small piece of metal that glowed with bloody light, taking care not to touch it with his bare skin.

He heard Varric gasp in recognition, but only spared the dwarf a warning shake of his head. He gently ran the fingers of his free hand down the side of Anders' face. "Beloved, it's time," he whispered. The blond mage shuddered and opened his eyes. Blue light gleamed forth, spreading across the mage's form, and the voice of Vengeance rang out.

"**Why have we come here? Why have we not finished cleansing Kirkwall of the templars as was agreed?"** Underneath the crawling blue lines of power, Anders' face was sweating and twisted with effort. Slowly, he released his grip on the staff, and cupped his hands palms up in his lap.

"We had too many injuries, and my own reserves were dangerously depleted," Kestrel replied flatly. "The rest of us can't restore ourselves as you can. You're going to have to wait." So saying, he tipped the shard of Bartrand's corrupted lyrium idol into Anders' hands, and the Fade spirit's attention was immediately captured by it. The blue light leached downward through the mage's body until it was pooled around Anders' hands with the lyrium singing its siren song in the middle.

"Kestrel?" Anders said hesitantly, looking at the other man with hopeful eyes.

"Not much longer, now, my love," Hawke replied around the lump in his throat, and kissed him tenderly. "Keep watch, and let me know when he starts to free himself."

He strode back to the fire and swept his companions with a cold, uncompromising gaze.

"What happened in Kirkwall today was an accident - but only of timing, not of result. Vengeance has seriously disrupted my original plan, but the main purpose is still achievable. I mean for Kirkwall to be utterly destroyed, and in a few moments, I'm going to tell each of you how you're going to help me accomplish that in the days and weeks ahead."

Aveline spoke first, as he'd known she would. "Hawke, if you're telling me that you condone what Anders did to the Chantry - and you intend more of the same - then you and I are through."

He spun on her and stabbed out with one accusing finger. "I. Made. You," he spat. "_Everything_ you have today is because of me and the blood I and my family have shed for you, or because of you. If it weren't for the Hawkes, you would have been dead along with Wesley. If it wasn't for me having your back every Void-cursed step of the way for the past seven years, you'd still be Guardswoman Vallen - if you were even alive - not Guard Captain Heydyr. So, Aveline, you and I will be through when _I say_ we're through."

He continued, pointing his finger at each of them in turn. "At least when Kirkwall residents asked for my help - I got coin or something useful as thanks. All you people have ever done is used me to solve personal problems and left me to clean up your messes.

"Well, there are bigger, more important things happening in Thedas than your petty concerns and now it is time for you to help _me_. Have I made myself clear?" His deep voice had become louder and louder as he spoke, and the last sentence ended in a roar that echoed off the stone walls and made the Gallows mages mutter in apprehension.

Aveline and Fenris glared back at him, and he could see the muscles along Varric's jaw twitch, but they held their silence for the time being. Isabela merely raised one eyebrow and smiled a bit, and Merrill looked frightened.

"I know none of you except for Merrill have any idea about actual magic usage, and since her knowledge is rooted in the Dalish tradition she didn't have the background to help us. But for years, Anders and I have known that something has been brewing in Kirkwall - and it's been going on for decades, if not longer. It may surprise you to hear that I've kept every scrap of information we ever found from the Band of Three. Taken separately, any one of them sounds like no more than one of Varric's wild tales. But taken together, they showed us the true purpose of Kirkwall.

Fenris opened his mouth, and Kestrel hissed at him. "I said magic _usage_, Fenris. You may have witnessed your share of blood rituals and other nasty workings, and your lyrium brands allow you to _channel_ power, but you've never actually used magic. I'm talking about something more prosaic. You know what I mean, Fenris. You saw it, today in the Gallows. Don't try to pretend you didn't."

The elf glowered and looked down and away, spitting on the floor in distaste. "The maidens. The lock-boxes and stocks. The bleeding bowls and shackles," he growled reluctantly, still refusing to meet Hawke's gaze.

"You neglected to mention the blood-channels leading from them to the collection drains," Kestrel finished bitterly. "Maybe they were left over from when this was a Tevinter slaving center, but they didn't exactly look like unused relics meant to frighten, did they?

"Who do you suppose has been using them, Fenris? Who has kept them so shiny and clean and in such perfect working order? Do you think the Gallows mages regularly trooped down into the dungeons and willingly tortured and bled _themselves_?"

"_Venhedis_!" Fenris snarled back. "And what is it to me if the templars have been torturing mages? All that has happened just makes it more inevitable."

"And how do you know they were templars?" Kestrel countered with equal heat. "No, let me change the question. What does a _Tevinter_ look like? We all know elves are slight and have pointy ears. Rivainis like our lovely Isabela here are dusky-skinned and dark haired. But what does a Tevinter look like? Under those helmets, who's to know if a knight is a good solid Marcher or a stinking Imperial recruited by the Black Divine? And the blood, Fenris? Who could _possibly_ have a need for all that blood?" he taunted sarcastically.

He appealed to all of them, now, pleading with them to _comprehend_ what he was trying to show them. "Andraste's campaign laid the Imperium low a thousand years ago. Yet they've rebuilt - the Magisters are in control again - and for the past century, they've managed to hold off the might of the Qunari in a virtual stalemate with no help from the rest of Thedas.

"You all remember that hideous business with the _saar-qamek_ in Lowtown. Isabela knows first-hand the destructive capability of the _gaatlok_ explosives used by their dreadnaughts and siege engines. And then add in the sheer power of their warriors and the _saarebas_. How has one diminished, reviled kingdom - a mere shadow of its former glory and strength - managed to hold off the powerful Qunari for so long?

"_Kirkwall_. It is the source of almost unlimited power for them - fed by the blood of their enemies."

"But why the Chantry, Hawke? Why would Anders..." Varric caught himself at Kestrel's black look. "Why would Justice destroy so many innocents?"

Kestrel gave him a pitying look. "You _did_ hear what he said, I assume? He's not Justice anymore. He hasn't been for quite some time. All Vengeance cares about is completely obliterating all templars - all Chantry influence in regards to mages. Anders and I only intended to target the very top level of the Chantry - but Vengeance decided to 'improve' on our action with a surprise of his own."

"You still haven't answered his question, though," Merrill piped up suddenly, then blushed. "Why the Chantry? It was just a big building filled with stinky smoke and a lot of boring people and ugly statues."

"Was it?" Hawke smiled bleakly, and reached into his belt pouch again. This time, he drew forth a shard of cloudy gray glass, and tossed it to the floor in front of the elven girl. "Look familiar? I found it embedded in some timbers outside the Hanged Man."

"Ohhhh," she breathed, reaching towards it, but stopping short of actually picking it up. With Keeper Marethari's death, it seemed she'd finally learned her lesson. "It's part of an Eluvian, isn't it? Wait, are you saying there was an unbroken Eluvian at the top of the Chantry? How did you find it? Did you actually see it? What was it like?" She clapped her hand over her mouth to stop the flood of questions, but her eyes widened as another thought struck her. "Is that why ..." she whispered between her fingers. "There was already a working Eluvian here - that's why mine wouldn't work."

Kestrel nodded. "Yes - a functioning Eluvian as the focus of a webwork of power being drawn upward through the city - from the Tevinter blood mages in the Gallows dungeons through the channels of the really deep passages hewn under the harbor, funneling into the sewers, spreading into Darktown; concentrated upwards through the streets of Lowtown and finally magnified in the lines of Hightown to flow into the Eluvian located in the upper reaches of the Chantry at the end.

"In addition, along the way, every weak spot in the Veil, every murder, every desperate mage surrendering to a demon's lies - all contributed to the flow of energy until it could be collected at the top of the Chantry and sent forth through the Eluvian to its twin in Minrathous. The beauty of it for them was that they don't even need to have thousands of blood slaves present anymore - no feeding or housing or worrying about catching more - not when Meredith and the Chantry and the Coterie were happily doing the work for them.

"Well, maybe I'm being overly optimistic," Varric drawled, "but with the Eluvian gone, doesn't that take care of the problem? The Tevinters can't get the blood power any more, right? That means the Qunari should finally be able to crush them for good."

Kestrel shook his head and sighed heavily. "I wish you were right, Varric, I truly do. But there's still Merrill's Eluvian, and the one destroyed in the Chantry can be repaired just as hers was - or they could bring another. There's no knowing what secrets the Archons have hidden away - maybe there's something else they can use as a focus.

"No," he continued grimly. "Kirkwall itself _must_ be destroyed. Too many of the streets, alleys and even buildings were deliberately built as channels and runes. It's like a deactivated golem. It doesn't matter how many centuries it sits unused. With a working control rod, it can be used for its original purpose again and again. And what if somebody _else_ - like the Harriman family, or another Ser Alrik - were to discover it and use it?"

Fenris spoke again, but now his voice was thoughtful. "No one would be more glad than I to see the Magisters and their ilk brought low, Hawke. But if you succeed here, once Tevinter is obliterated the Qunari will assuredly turn their attention to the rest of Thedas. I do not hold out much hope for any of the remaining kingdoms to fight them off this time, even if they could be united again. Andraste is long gone."

Kestrel blinked wearily. "Believe me, we realized that when the Arishok made his threat before he died. They've been biding their time - the wisdom of the Qun is nothing if not patient. The only way the rest of Thedas will possibly be able to stand against the Qunari when they come will be through the use of magic -a lot of it, unfettered and potent." He smiled unpleasantly as the elf growled in disgust.

"Of course, there is a major snag to that possible means of salvation. Why should we mages stir one finger to save the lives of those who have used so-called holy writings as a license to oppress, torture and kill us for the past ten ages? Why should we save those who have _allowed_ such abuses to continue because they can't see past the fear-mongering of fanatics? Personally, I'd enjoy seeing the Divine spitted on one of those huge Qunari blades, and every templar turned against his brother by _saar-qamek_."

"Oh, come now, Hawke," Isabela purred, trying to break the tension. "Although I would find it quite fascinating to see you dressed in little more than a leather collar and chains, I don't think many mages would willingly take to the role of _saarebas_, even if the Qunari could be convinced not to kill them all outright."

"And there you have the _one_ compelling reason for us to help," Hawke agreed. "Unfortunately, the point may be moot. With the constant attrition due to the foolishness of Harrowing or death, and the untold _waste_ of all those made Tranquil - Thedas probably doesn't have enough trained mages now to give the Qunari pause for more than a season - even if the mages from every Circle were set free right now."

Uneasy looks were exchanged around the fire at Hawke's admission. _Good, let them finally think about it for once - get a taste of the fear mages like Anders and have lived with all our lives._

"Kestrel? Love - I don't think I can hold him much longer," Anders' low voice broke through their silence, and they all turned to look at him. The light from the shard seemed to have dimmed, and the blue fire of the Fade spirit was beginning to spread slowly up the healer's arms again. Silvery tear tracks had left clean trails through the grime and soot on his face. "I'm sorry. I wish I'd been stronger for you," he whispered.

"You've always been the strong one, Anders," Kestrel said in a choked voice. "It's I who've failed you too many times. Just a few more minutes, and you can let him go."

Anders smiled at his lover and closed his eyes, lips moving in silent incantations once again.

"Right, then," Kestrel said. "I'd hoped to have more time, but this way is probably best." He bent over to retrieve his travel pack and pulled several sealed letters out of it, as well as a thick sheaf of bound parchment and two heavy, clinking pouches.

"I'm not asking you to do this for me, anymore, or even for mages. I just pray to the Maker that you will do it for future generations." He stared somberly at each of them in turn, and was met with nods - some reluctant, some grudging - but unanimous in their agreement, none-the-less.

"Aveline. You have the biggest responsibility, because you currently have the most power in the city - with the exception of Cullen. Luckily, he's a reasonable man, and a good one. More importantly, he is more concerned with seeing to the safety and well-being of the citizens of Kirkwall than hunting down a handful of apostate mages. Coordinate with him as soon as you can - and try to keep the pissing contest short - because the two of you working together will need to have Kirkwall evacuated in the next eight days."

"You're raving, or possessed," Aveline gritted, hand moving automatically towards her sword hilt.

"Neither," Hawke said firmly. "Just desperate and running out of time - and patience. There are more explosive devices throughout the city - many more. And they do _not_ need to be triggered by a mage – I learned a little more from the Qunari than they expected. They will all explode in eight days' time, and no one and nothing - except perhaps direct intervention from the Maker - will prevent that. It's up to you to spread the word, throughout the _entire_ city, mind you - not just Hightown - that what happened at the Chantry is going to happen again - and no place in Kirkwall will be safe.

"However, I would suggest that you commandeer all ships in the harbor first. Send as many people south across the Waking Sea as you can. Ferelden needs a stable population again. Anybody else - especially the Hightowners with country estates - can fend for themselves, or go overland to Starkhaven and some of the other Marcher cities. A sudden influx of people should keep Sebastian occupied, at the very least, and out of harm's way until it's over.

"I also have some letters that _must_ get through. Feynriel needs to be found - he's in Minrathous, but that's all I know. There's one for King Alistair of Ferelden; and one for Irving or Wynne at the Kinloch Hold Circle at Lake Calenhad." He held the three folded and sealed parchments out towards the red-headed warrior and cocked his head slightly. "For Wesley. For Carver and Bethany and my mother. Don't let others suffer as you and I have."

With an exasperated snort, she stood and snatched the letters from his hand. "All right, Hawke. You've the right of it. But I think I called the wrong brother a tit, all those years ago." She clapped him on the shoulder with one gauntleted hand and turned to leave.

Kestrel looked at the Rivaini pirate next. "Ooh, lovely. What kind of adventure do you have planned for me, you mad mage?" she said with a wicked smile.

"Courier, of course," he replied. "Now that you have your ship again, I need you to get Varric, Merrill and our Gallows mages to Denerim. After that, if the King is agreeable, you'll need to get Varric as close to Orzammar as possible. I don't want to risk him on overland travel. Damn, I probably should have given you the letter to Alistair, considering your prior... acquaintance with him. See if you can get it from Aveline, all right? The sooner he receives it, the better. Bodahn and Sandal were thinking of going to Orlais. If they still want to, get them there safely. I owe them a lot.

"After that, you can ply your trade wherever you like, but I will ask that you keep yourself available to carry messages, passengers and mages whenever needed. As a retainer, you can have this," Kestrel pointed at the bags of coin, "and whatever you can get out of my estate. And take Orana with you until you can find her someplace safe, please?"

She took the coin pouches and hefted them suggestively in her hands. "Well," she said speculatively, "added to what I can salvage from your place, I'm sure this will be adequate," and winked. Then she bent down and kissed the unsuspecting man deeply. "I might even have done it for a kiss alone," she breathed in his ear. "Anders is a lucky sod."

She straightened and laughed. "Well, I'm off to the docks to collect my crew from their whoring and gambling. Anyone who's coming with me better be shipside at dawn in two days, or you're walking. Oi, you lot," she called across to the mages. "Come on now, get your gear and come with me - I'll stash you on board tonight."

Kestrel looked at the three who were left. Fenris kept glancing at Anders, apparently checking the progress of the Fade spirit away from the lyrium trap. Varric was looking resigned, and Merrill completely mystified.

"Merrill," Hawke said gently. "You are going to be the proof that mages can be trusted. In all the years that you used blood magic, you never once succumbed to the demon. And with Marethari's sacrifice, you were freed from it, as well. Be the example for all mages - show them that they can have the strength of will to resist. Educate them as to the fallibility of _all_ Fade spirits - no matter what kind they claim to be.

"Take these copies of the Manifesto with you, too. Give some to Irving and Wynne, and distribute the others where you can. While you're in Denerim, talk with King Alistair. He had two mages at his side during the Blight. He knows Thedas is going to need their power soon enough. See if you can get his help in saving mages in other Circles - or in bringing them to Ferelden. Additionally, contact as many Clans as you can. The Dalish will need to be in the fight as well."

The elven girl took the parchment sheaves and nodded uncertainly. "I'll try, of course I will, Hawke. You know I'll do my best. But wouldn't _you_ be the best person to do that? The Manifesto part, I mean. And not giving in to demons and such. I don't think many of the Clans would be willing to listen to you, about fighting for _shems_, after all, being one yourself."

He shook his head at her. "No, Merrill. Anders and I have... other things we need to do. But we'll check in with you from time to time, to see how things are going, I promise. Now, you promise _me_ - no more Eluvians or ancient demony relics, yes?"

He smiled to reduce the sting, and she grinned a bit. "Yes, I can promise that. May the Dread Wolf never find you, Hawke." The Dalish exile went to stand by Isabela, who was having a hard time convincing the exhausted mages to get moving.

"Hawke, tell me you're not _really_ sending me to Orzammar," Varric begged. "You know I hate that place. Besides, since Bartrand's gone..."

Kestrel raised his hand. "Save it, Varric. You're the only one for this job. With your current contacts, you can already negotiate with the Carta, and since with any luck you're also going to be representing King Alistair of Ferelden - one of the people responsible for getting Bhelen his crown - you'll have clout with the noble caste as well."

The dwarf's eyes narrowed in curiosity. "Just _what_ am I going to be negotiating, oh mighty Champion? I doubt that many dwarves will be willing to provide any help against the Qunari, except for some of the miners and those responsible for creating explosives."

"It's an angle to pursue, certainly," Hawke replied, intrigued. "I'll admit, I hadn't even considered that possibility. But what I really need you to do is disrupt or completely halt lyrium sales to the Chantry."

Varric whistled. "Damn, Hawke, you don't think small, do you? I see what you're aiming for - without a steady supply of lyrium, the templar order will essentially cease to exist, except as a regular army. That in turn would free mages from a lot of checks on their power. But why would dwarves stop selling to a long-time buyer with almost infinite resources?"

"What if they sold directly to mages, instead - especially the ones in Ferelden?" Hawke suggested. "Or maybe even to an exchequer of the crown? There are still good templars who hold to their uncorrupted duty, and they could be compensated for their worthiness. Besides, I'm sure the Archon and plenty of magisters will be screaming for the stuff before long - might as well drain their coffers before the Qunari collar them all."

The dwarf stood and bowed. "Hawke, you are an evil and conniving man. I stand in awe, really. Behind that seemingly innocent human face hides the mind of a dwarven merchant. For the chance to take part in such wonderful story fodder, I'll even suffer Orzammar. I hear some of the Silent Sisters are real lookers, and they won't nag your ear off, either. But I draw the line at eating nug."

He shook Hawke's hand. "I always said that having you around would keep things exciting, Hawke. Too bad I can't add this to the repertoire. But tell me one thing - why did you keep the shard? You told _me_ it was too dangerous. I thought you were going to have Bodahn's boy destroy it."

Hawke frowned. "About four years ago, Anders told me more about what happened when he met Justice. The Warden-Commander kind of recruited him, since he was inhabiting the corpse of a Grey Warden. Somewhere in the Deep Roads, they came across a ring of pure lyrium - probably a smith's vanity project. It would have killed anybody who wore it, but since Justice's host was already dead, it didn't matter. He was quite taken with it, so the Warden-Commander made a gift of it to him.

"Anders said Justice would just stand and stare at it on his finger for hours at a time. So, when I was casting around for a way to keep Vengeance occupied, I thought about the shard. We've used it a few times, but it seems that Anders' living flesh filters the 'song' enough to mute the lure of it. Still, it's served its purpose today."

Hawke glanced over at Anders once more and sighed. "Good luck, Varric. Keep telling stories with happy endings, all right? Maybe ones about the Champion and the Healer roaming across Thedas righting wrongs and such?"

Varric's expression turned melancholy for an instant, and then he said heartily, "Right you are, Hawke. A happy ending... for all of us, but especially for you and Blondie. Take care of yourself." And he walked away quickly, offering Bianca's services in helping urge the rescued Gallows mages out of the mine.

"So, you have left me for last, Hawke," Fenris said. "I have no connections, I am thankfully not a mage, I have no special abilities to facilitate your plan - unless you would send me as a messenger to the Qunari." His green eyes glinted in the flickering firelight, curious and wary.

"Correct on all points except the last, I'm afraid," Hawke replied with a smile. "Instead, I simply ask that you provide bodyguard service again - to King Alistair in Ferelden. He already has many enemies, and in the months and years ahead, he will make many more. He will need somebody of your ferocious loyalty and capabilities, Fenris. Also, you may remember that Antivan - Zevran - that we met a while back?"

The elf grunted. "That one. Of course - one of the few things _he_..." he jerked his chin in Anders' direction, "and I ever agreed on. I still doubt he was really as skilled as he claimed."

"Just as he intended," Hawke chuckled. "He is probably one of the deadliest people you will ever meet. Sadly, Vengeance's premature actions prevented him from completing the contract I'd hired him for."

"Oh?" Fenris replied, refusing to rise to the bait.

"I'd meant for him to kill Meredith in her rooms and make it look like a natural death," Hawke admitted. "Things might have gone very differently indeed without her instability mucking things up. But we'll never know now. Anyway, you'll probably run into Zevran in Denerim. He's a good friend of Alistair's, and definitely someone you could learn from. At least consider it."

"I will, Hawke. It could prove an interesting challenge," Fenris said, but he did not move to follow the others. "What is it you are holding back?" he challenged suddenly. "If you are looking for forgiveness for what that abomination did, or what you have planned, you surely realize you will _never_ get it from me. Trusting mages to do the right thing in this coming war is a fool's dream, Hawke. Maybe there are those with strength of will to match your own, but the demons are still there. The temptation will _always_ be there."

Kestrel bowed his head momentarily, then looked across the former slave with haunted eyes. "But what if the temptation _wasn't_ there, Fenris? What if no mage ever had to worry about being possessed, or being tempted or turning into an abomination again? What if there were still good templars to safeguard against truly _evil_ men, like Danarius, who just also happen to be mages?

"If they were citizens like you, possessing interesting and unique powers as you do, but entirely free of demonic taint, do you think you could learn to trust mages? And if you could do so, do you think ordinary people could learn to do the same? To love their mage-born children, and raise them in love instead of fear, in responsibility instead of anger?"

The anguished questioning shook the elf. This mage - this _man_ - had never been unsure, had never shown such emotion. "I..." he started to answer, to deny the possibility, but he couldn't say it. Although they had seldom agreed on anything, and never on the subject of magic, Fenris still had to pause. "How would you accomplish such a thing?" he finally asked.

"There is a third front to this war we have started," Kestrel stated calmly. "And only a mage can fight there. Feynriel will be our liaison, and hopefully we'll be able to recruit some volunteers, but someone has to go first."

Fenris stared at him and shook his head, not understanding. "What do you..." he started to ask.

"Anders and I are going into the Fade – using the Dalish ritual combined with a method we created after studying the shard. We're going to find and kill as many demons as we can. They aren't known for cooperation with each other, so I think we'll be able to destroy a good many of them before they even know what's happening. And if we concentrate on the ones who actively seek to cross the Veil and possess mages, sooner or later, the others might stop to think that it's probably not such a good thing to attempt.

"Finally, it's the only way I can think of to free Anders from Vengeance. Once we're in the Fade, I think Vengeance might separate from Anders, perhaps even go back to being a relatively benign spirit. It's worth trying, at least. I owe him a chance at freedom, anyway," Kestrel finished, and the look he gave Anders was so full of love and regret that Fenris felt ashamed to intrude, but it had to be said.

"But when you return," he said awkwardly, "will not the spirit just attach itself again? It seems it has gotten used to being in the real world and influencing events."

Kestrel stood and walked over to where Anders was sitting. The blue lines of energy were up almost to his shoulders now, and the skin of his hands was starting to blister from the increasing exposure to the corrupted lyrium as the Fade spirit began resisting its song.

He knelt behind Anders and put his arms around the healer in a gentle hug, before pressing his hands to the shard of lyrium. Immediately, sullen red light began to creep outward along his arms. He grunted softly in pain and looked up at Fenris.

"We won't _be_ returning, Fenris," Kestrel said. "Now please, I'm asking for your help one final time. Make it quick and strike true." He buried his face in Anders' hair, and whispered, "It's time at last, beloved. Let him go."

The healer's eyes opened a final time, and blue light blazed forth as Vengeance screamed in rage. Fenris watched carefully, lyrium lines glowing, ready to act. As Anders' eyes closed again and both mages' bodies began to slump sideways, the elf's arm slid cleanly through their chests. _"Damn you, mage!"_ the elf grated as he pulled his arm back and their lifeless bodies fell to the floor, hands still connected by the lyrium.

_She hasn't changed a bit_, he thought at he watched her across the top of his mug. _Still sweet and inn__ocent, even after all that's happened. Thank the Maker for small miracles._

"So Anders told the desire demon, 'Well, sweetheart, if you're really in the mood for rigid and upstanding, I can totally recommend Justice. I even think he's around here somewhere.' So then the silly thing actually started to look around," Merrill began to giggle, "and while she was distracted - Kestrel killed her." The elven woman laughed delightedly, and Varric smiled as well.

_Well, maybe not so innocent, anymore. Damn, I wish I could have seen it. Almost makes me wish I was a human...almost._

"So, Daisy, could you do me a favor - next time you... see them?" he said wistfully.

"Surely, Varric. You've but to ask."

"Tell them... tell them I miss them, would you?"

She smiled at him warmly. "They know, Varric. That's why they keep giving me stories to tell you."


End file.
